


call it quits (or call it destiny)

by fruitpeels



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Almost Lovers to Being Ghosted to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Emotional Constipation, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, kuroo goes to bother him, tsukki works at the sendai city museum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitpeels/pseuds/fruitpeels
Summary: Tsukishima Kei has always hated summer. But he will always be grateful for how it brought him back to Kuroo Tetsurou.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 24
Kudos: 142





	call it quits (or call it destiny)

**Author's Note:**

> this krtsk brainrot has been brought to you by the number of post-timeskip tsukki fanart i kept seeing of him working as a Museum Man except all the fanart depicted him working in a museum with dinosaurs and me wondering if there were actually any dinosaur museums in japan. 
> 
> as a result: this tsukki character study nobody asked for.
> 
> enjoy!

Tsukishima Kei has always hated summer.

It irked him how summer has always had this ability to manipulate time. There was something about its sweltering embrace and the humidity curdling in the air that renders his surroundingsstagnant, everything awash in liquid gold. The days easily cut into one another, a seamless transition between night and day that every day feels like a repeated performance with the finale nowhere in sight. The rendition goes on for months, a necessary succession of acts to sustain the image of being human. Every summer there will always be some sort of routine he unknowingly builds around himself and never notices its pattern until he’s been sucked into the absence of his own willingness to deviate from the never-ending cycle.

In childhood, this meant lounging around in their backyard, slumped against the patio with an empty Yakult bottle in his hand. Tsukishima can allow himself the leisure of having no responsibilities to tend to as he watches the clouds fold into each other, limbs held down by the warmth of a summer afternoon.

But he’s a young, working adult now. Work is the only routine he can occupy himself with. The lethargy crawls under his skin and makes it itch, with the weariness of his muscles evident as he drags his feet to his office. Tsukishima can only tighten his grip on the berry-infused iced tea he’s carrying as he opens the door to his office, greeted by the musk of a poorly ventilated room and the pending tasks he has for the day.

Tsukishima lets out a sigh as he sets down the iced tea in its designated coaster and walks over to pull back the curtains on the windows. Sunlight filters through the glass and directly onto his glasses, making him flinch and squint at the garden of Sendai City Museum laid out in front of him. Tsukishima heaves another sigh, turning away from the stroke of warmth by the window and sitting himself down on his office chair.

He opens his planner with his left hand as he reaches for his tea with the right. Tsukishima is careful not to let any water droplets from the moisture of the plastic cup drip onto any part of the table as he lets his eyes skim through his schedule for the day.

**10:00 —** Scheduled to tour a group of Singaporeans around the museum

 **12:00 —** Lunch, if possible

 **12:45 —** Sort out papers and acquire other documents for the proposed exhibit in December

 **15:00 —** Call Mom

 **15:15 —** Call Brother

*Ask if allowed to clock out early.

 **17:30 —** Drop by the grocery (must buy wine)

 **19:00 —** Check email for any rejection letters from grad schools applied to

Tsukishima sits back into his chair and looks up at the ceiling of his office. Earning the job as an Assistant Historian wasn’t particularly bad; he had his own office, he got to tag along to see the real artifacts and pieces of Sendai’s history instead of the replicas, and he had the option of playing tour guide when he felt like it. Like today, for example. But the heat clings to Tsukishima like a second skin, thick and dense it makes his sweat trickle like honey. Not even the notion of showing off the knowledge that came with his hard-earned degree and helped him land this job could be enough to rouse him into a better mood.

Before he could decide if it was too late to cancel his ten o’ clock, three knocks thump at his door and Tsukishima startles into standing upright.

“Come in!”

The museum director lets himself through the doorway and into the office. Tsukishima can see his pudgy face rumple in displeasure before he can stand up to greet him, which makes him look like one of the _Obeshimi_ masks displayed on the second floor. Tsukishima thinks it’s only fitting.

“Good morning, Tsukishima!” The museum director is always too loud and too lively for his liking. Good thing he’s learned how to school his features and avoid scowling openly at the authority figures present in his adult life.

Tsukishima only bows in acknowledgement. The museum director sits himself at the edge of his work table, his leg swinging against the arm rest of the office chair. He blinks out the glare he feels the need to inflict onto his boss.

“What brings you here, Tabe-san?” Tsukishima asks, awkwardly sitting back down.

“You’re scheduled to show around that group of Singaporeans today right? Don’t tell me you forgot!” The museum director laughs and Tsukishima attempts a smile while biting on the reflex of ushering a sarcastic reply. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t ever forget something like that, Tsukishima. You and your fancy planner get along too well.”

“What about the group?”

“Yes, yes! You’re not touring them around today. I’m assigning someone else.”

Tsukishima visibly perks up. Maybe this is the universe granting him the mercy of having a free day. More time to sort out documents and indulge in a quarter life crisis. “Did something happen, Tabe-san? Why the sudden re-assignment?”

The museum director rises from his place on the table and paces around the office. He stops in front of Tsukishima’s shelf, folding himself at the hip and squinting at the gold inscription of titles lined up. Tsukishima is thoroughly surprised that the older man’s joints didn’t creak at the bend. He wishes he could say the same for his own body.

“Someone arranged for a private tour today and specifically asked for you, Tsukishima.”

“For me? What do you mean, Tabe-san?”

His boss shrugs and stands up, setting his gaze directly at Tsukishima. “He asked for you, Tsukishima. He wants _you_ to tour him around the museum, out of all the other people on the job. He left a name, but requested not to tell you. And we always respect our patrons! It’s not someone famous, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

The thought of having to conduct a private tour with someone famous didn’t even cross Tsukishima’s mind. Instead, it travels to a rush of questions that makes the thin layer of sweat on his back run cold. Why would one person ask for a private tour out of nowhere? Sendai isn’t exactly Tokyo, Tsukishima is well aware of this. His breathing comes to a momentary halt when he thinks, why would they ask for _him_ specifically? Something simmers in his stomach, and it’s definitely not the tea he’s been drinking.

Tsukishima can only think about the possibility that the person asking for him could be a representative from one of the grad schools he applied to. Could it be someone from Tōdai? Fuck. Is he even worthy of being observed? Or maybe he’s being observed to see how he compares to other applicants vying for the same spot. He might be mediocre compared to everyone else. Tsukishima’s résumé is enough proof of the notable work he’s done so far in his career but he can never dismiss the reality that there are still so many others better than him.

The museum director clears his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Tsukishima.”

There’s relish in the way his boss says those words, like the knowledge he’s withholding from Tsukishima pleases him greatly. Tsukishima swallows his unease. He’s not supposed to be nervous. Why would he be nervous?

“How will I know the person I’m showing around if you’re not giving me his name?”

A wave of the hand. “Just go to that new girl at the information desk out front. He said he’ll be waiting for you near there.”

Tsukishima squints in suspicion. His boss gives him a tight smile, living up to his _Obeshimi_ likeness as he walks out of the office.

Seeing how his ten o’clock is impossible to cancel now, Tsukishima glances at his watch and sees that he has about twenty minutes to spare before he needs to formally start his day. In those twenty minutes, he manages to finish half of his iced tea and laments how it will be warm and watery when he comes back for it by lunchtime. He also takes a trip to the restroom, grimacing at himself when he looks up at the mirror after washing his hands.

Tsukishima sees side-swept blond hair atop a face outlined in worry and traced with the shadow of a young man who has yet to fully accept who he has decided to be. He sighs as he pushes his glasses further up his nose and tries a smile when he sees the half-rim frames his mother picked out, flattering the sharp planes of his face. Definitely better than the plain black square frames he sported in adolescence. 

With five minutes to spare, he quickly smoothes out his shirt along with the tension sweeping across his body in waves. Then, he carefully tucks in the lanyard of his work ID into his collar. He shakes his dried hands in front of him as he leaves the stuffy restroom, a curious habit he’s picked up from his best friend, Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima walks the long corridor towards the museum foyer with no drag in his feet, each step snapping against the resinous floor and echoing into his ears. He goes over his introduction in his head: name, position, customer service standard smile. _Tsukishima Kei, Assistant Historian, here to be your museum guide for the day._ _Please don’t forget to smile._

When he reaches the foyer, the new girl his boss referred to earlier spots him before he could even round the corner. She waves at him and smiles, the over lining of her lipstick evident with the pull of her mouth. Wordlessly, she points to a tall man standing by the map of the museum placed on a wall near the entrance. Tsukishima leans forward in lieu of a proper bow and makes his way to him.

Despite the stifling envelope of heat inside the building, the man is wearing a steel blue colored suit that lines his broad shoulders well. He has his right hand stuffed in his pocket and his head slightly turned to the side as he continues to observe the layout of the Sendai City Museum in front of him. Something about the man seems familiar to Tsukishima, a wrinkle of memory from someone he once knew in the past.

Tsukishima clears his throat. “Hello and welcome to Sendai City Museum! I’m…”

The words get caught in his mouth, disbelief jamming the column of his throat and rendering him speechless. The man turns to face him and now standing in front of him is a ghost Tsukishima feared seeing again, the one who haunts his memories. He was constantly plagued by the thought of him, a suppression finding existence in the peripheries of his mind.

“Tsukishima. Nice to see you here!”

The ghost of a man is Kuroo Tetsurou, annoyingly handsome as ever.

Tsukishima forcibly twists his face into the nastiest scowl he can manage. “What the hell are you doing here, Kuroo-san?”

“Hey, now,” Kuroo says, removing his right hand from his pocket and pointing a finger at Tsukishima, “don’t start gatekeeping your own workplace. That’s bad business.”

“And you’re bringing in bad energy by being here. What are you even doing in Sendai? In Miyagi?”

“I was in the area for some work,” Kuroo shrugs, signature smirk already in place, “so I thought, why not explore the area? Play tourist for once.”

Kuroo lifts his chin, their eyes meeting. A challenge. Tsukishima wants to take up the older on it, act petty and grind his irritation into words that dig at the surface of a person’s resolve until they crack. But this is Kuroo, the only other person he personally knew who could best him in provocation. Tsukishima presses his teeth together and inhales. He’s not giving Kuroo the satisfaction of seeing him riled up. Not anymore.

“Alright, then.” Tsukishima forces the corners of his mouth upwards, hoping his best smile doesn’t start looking like a snarl. By the look of surprise on Kuroo’s face, he thinks his imitation of socially acceptable passive-aggressiveness must be working.

“Let’s start the tour, Kuroo-san.”

Without even glancing back once, Tsukishima starts walking towards the stairs going up to the second floor where the exhibits are being held. He takes two steps at a time and measures his breath in the number of strides he takes to increase the distance between him and the presence following close behind him. Taking one of the brochure guides from the acrylic stand mounted on the wall as he goes, Tsukishima blindly thrusts it into Kuroo’s chest when he manages to catch up.

“Here. You’ll need that. Please keep up, Kuroo-san.”

He steps into the first exhibition room, racks of glass encasing the replicas of history before Sendai became….well, Sendai. It’s not one of Tsukishima’s favorite exhibits, but there’s something about stepping into a room teeming with the past and being able to stand in a pocket of time. That exact awareness is what draws Tsukishima to history in the first place, whether in the form of dinosaurs or a fraction of Japanese history; he’s always been fascinated with segments of the past immortalized into writing and replications.

Tsukishima begins his practiced spiel, refined by the numerous times he’s had to explain a condensed version of everything he’s learned in his four years of university. He only sticks to one script in his mind, preferring to adhere to what he already knows. Yet he finds himself stumbling on his words, the syllables rolling off his tongue without his usual articulation. To anyone else, he would simply appear to be rushing. But not to Kuroo. Tsukishima knows this and hates the fact that Kuroo knows it.

Kuroo is standing close to him, their arms close enough to brush against one other. Neither of them concedes, letting themselves stand beside each other with tension the only thing separating them. Tsukishima pointedly steadies his gaze on the exhibit, and the exhibit only. Even with the harsh glare of the exhibit lighting making his eyes itch. Stupid pride.

They follow through the tour with relative ease, or at least as much ease Tsukishima can have with how Kuroo never strayed too far from him. When they reach the heart of the museum, an oval expanse split into three cavities leading to three more different exhibits, Tsukishima lets them stop in front of the backlit panel placed against the wall and spanning the entire room.

It’s a timeline of Sendai and its history, abbreviated into years and honored after its most notable contributors. Tsukishima thinks it’s amazing how an era can be defined by a person, good or bad, and the lasting effects of someone’s decision centuries after their time of physical existence. Now, they only exist in stories and as a collective part of history.

Tsukishima gives a brief summary of the years present and brings back details he’s already gone over with the previous exhibits they’ve been through. His voice bounces against the walls, disturbing the stillness of the vacant spaces void of people besides the two of them. If Kuroo can still notice the uncharacteristic tremor in the way Tsukishima talks, he doesn’t say anything about it.

When he finishes, Tsukishima spares a glance at Kuroo, who is still standing beside him. In the dim radiance of the room, Tsukishima notes the gentle slope of Kuroo’s face; the one he hasn’t been witness to in the past few years. Seeing Kuroo’s face up close again feels like bringing back a lost memory and rediscovering what beauty is supposed to mean to the beholder.

The glance is returned with a wide smile and Tsukishima averts his gaze, blaming the flame of his cheeks on the warmth of the season.

“Tch.” Tsukishima pretends to be engrossed in the text before him, something about the Edō period and details he already knew by heart because he wrote a paper about it once to spite a former classmate. Nothing is more motivating to Tsukishima than coming out the winner to a competition that never existed in the first place.

Kuroo lets out a chuckle. “How have you been, Tsukki?”

“Why aren’t you roaming around the exhibit?” Tsukishima decides not to comment on the nickname.“Are you done playing tourist? Did you just come here to rope me into your pyramid scheme?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer, just gives that stupid smile of his. Tsukishima only frowns and leads them to the next part of the exhibit, the one dedicated to Hasukera Tsunenaga. The space is lined with polished replicas of the original samurai armor linked to the decorated diplomat, with Christian antiquities situated across the floor—all of them encased in glass and the significance of their contributions.

The thing about Hasukera Tsunenaga is that Tsukishima finds him fascinating not for the kind of person he was, but for the kind of leaps he made in terms of international diplomacy. Not that he was all that interested in diplomacy, international nor personal, but Tsukishima admires the courage it took Hasukera to embark on something bigger than the sum of his person and to represent his country in a remote land filled with strangers.

His mother’s words echo in his mind whenever he thinks about that specific period of Sendai’s history, a scratched record that plays like a scolding in his head. _You can also do great things, Kei. And you already do! The only thing stopping you is yourself._

Tsukishima finds his mind drifting as he delves into the attempts of the Catholic Church to puncture through Japan and Hasukera’s involvement. He can feel the loaded stare Kuroo gives him and for the first time since he buried the experience in guilt, Tsukishima thinks back to when he was fifteen and burdened by the same focus.

He thinks back to summer camp: missing his mother’s cooking, heaving against bristly grass after a quick sprint, remembering his brother’s betrayal, and understanding what it meant to be passionate about something. Kuroo had helped him realize that—along with Bokuto, but Tsukishima still can’t take him too seriously after all these years. Kuroo, who left lingering stares that were difficult to ignore whenever he passed. Kuroo, who left a dent in the shape of his palm on Tsukishima’s skin for a week after training camp because he always let it hover for a second longer than necessary. The same Kuroo who had left Tsukishima yearning for something he didn’t even know he was looking for. 

As he talks about a god he has never been acquainted with, a religion whose history he can recount like one of their mandated prayers—he thinks about being on the receiving end of Kuroo’s affections. Is that how their god feels? Does their god repent for the sin of being wanted and needed, but not wanting to be known? Would it be a fault to run away from that?

Tsukishima gets caught up in his thoughts and his words come out in a weak croak. Kuroo laughs at him, although not unkind.

“Why are you really here, Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima glares, allowing himself the indulgence of looking at Kuroo’s face.

“Am I really not allowed to be a tourist,” Kuroo feigns hurt, placing a hand on his chest, “when I’m already getting old and Sendai is such a breath of fresh air compared to Tokyo! It’s important to breathe in good air!”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I was in the area for work, though.” Kuroo sighs. He takes a few steps away and and walks to the other end of room, footsteps knocking against the silence. “So I thought, why not go and see the city museum while I’m here? I have time to spare anyway.”

“The Science Museum is seven kilometers away, Kuroo-san. You would have it enjoyed it there better.”

“Would I? When you’re not working there?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Why ask for me specifically then? How did you even manage to ask for _me_ to show you around?” Tsukishima asks, biting the inside of his lower lip. He’s not expecting a direct answer, but he’s not looking to be disappointed by something he doesn’t want to hear. “You ruined what I already wrote down on my planner.”

“How else do you expect me to get ahold of you?” The voice that answers is soft, honest. Almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard. Tsukishima wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t waiting on a response. “Especially since you’ve quit volleyball for real.”

“That’s none of your business.”

They were not having a real conversation, Tsukishima makes careful work to make it as such.His mother called him shy for it, maybe prickly if his words happen to come off harsh.But he never considered himself shy, not when he had enough ego to taunt people as a way of introduction. From diverting the subject to responding in piercing stares, he perfects his own art of deflection. He prefers having the final word, the one on the upper hand of an exchange that’s supposed to go both ways. He doesn’t trust other people to steer the conversation when he’s involved.

Kuroo isn’t other people. With every attempt at deflecting Tsukishima does, Kuroo brings the exchange back and makes it worse than he anticipates.

“You look good, by the way.” Kuroo comments, unprompted. He’s slotted himself back to Tsukishima’s side, fingers brushing. 

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. At least, not by the fact that you look good. I’m just surprised at how you manage to look better every time I see you.”

“It’s only been two years.” Tsukishima looks up. Kuroo is already staring at him. They stand there, held down by the sincerity of what transpired between them—what’s still transpiring, if their actions are any indication. Actions that are honest, disregarding the mind in favor for what feels right.

“Two years too long.”

Tsukishima is the first to look away.

He forces his feet into motion, leading them to the last exhibit. The room is empty and for once, Tsukishima longs for the dissonance of tempered noise coming from other museum goers. The silence only makes the space seem bigger, the two of them small against the backdrop of the gradual modernization of Sendai. It is set in sepia, with images of classic Japanese architecture fusing with the brutalism of an ever-changing society.

The exhibit is bright, probably a symbolism of how the city has powered through into becoming one of the country’s most notable metropolitan areas. In the photos, Tsukishima sees glimpses of the nature parks he walked through during his university days, of the streets and buildings he’s passed by with the people who have carved out a home in his heart. Photos of the city he had a part of himself grow with, one he couldn’t leave behind so easily.

He blames Sendai for what he did to Kuroo.

Kuroo, who is currently standing behind Tsukishima. The same Kuroo who asks, “Tsukki. Why did you quit volleyball?”

“It’s just a sport,” he answers, far too quickly for his liking, “and like I said it’s none of—“

“Upgraded from your ‘It’s just a club’ excuse, I see.”

“It’s the truth.” And it was, at least for the most part.

Just is an adverb Tsukishima adds as a prefix to describe himself and everything that encompasses the very notion of his existence. A word created to measure how little something is compared to the greater scheme of things; a word Tsukishima uses to emphasize how he is simply… exact. Nothing too lacking, but nothing too great either. Just there.

Just volleyball, he would say. The sport he never missed practice on, not even once. Not when he had a big exam the next day, even with his previous captain letting him off out of the kindness of his heart. The same sport that introduced him to the most important people in his life and gave him enough ambition that he actually thought he would play for as long as his body would allow him.

Just college, he used to say. Four years counted in papers and exams, of people he knows by face but never bothering to name. Four years spent in Sendai, instead of Tokyo, even though Tōdai offered him an opportunity he had been waiting to take since he was a mere child. Four years he spent thinking about whether what he wanted to do was worth it, if _he_ was deserving of becoming the person he wanted to be.

Just Tsukishima Kei, he always says. The one who never wants to expect beyond what he couldn’t grasp and even then—even _then,_ it’s like he couldn’t allow himself to want. To let himself simmer in the pool of his desires felt like drowning in the lurking guilt of wanting too much when he wasn’t enough. It swallows him whole, gnaws at every bit of confidence he has in himself, then spits him out cowering like the coward that he is.

The truth is: he is just Tsukishima Kei, former Middle Blocker and almost-captain of the Sendai Frogs. He is just Tsukishima Kei, Tohoku University graduate and constantly thinking of another version of himself who would have become the person his childhood self would look up to. He is just Tsukishima Kei and he’s no Olympian like his friends, nor is he a decorated academic like his brother.

He’s just another person who has always tried what was best in order to excel, until it suddenly felt like trying wasn’t even enough to occupy the parts of himself that were lacking.

“Tsukki?”

“Yeah?” The response is muddled in afterthought.

“Are you alright?” The question sounds strange in Tsukishima’s ears.

“Why wouldn’t I be, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I’ve never met a museum guide as quiet as you, Tsukki. Where are the evaluations? I’m ready to fail you.”

“There aren’t any,” Tsukishima says, glancing down at his watch, “and if there were, I should be given a glowing review for having to deal with you. Besides, we’re actually done with the tour. This was the final exhibit.”

“What!” Kuroo exclaims. He frantically pats down his body, probably searching for the misplaced brochure. Once it’s back in his hands, Kuroo flips it over and opens the tabs so quickly it almost splits down at the fold. “That’s not possible.”

“I’m literally the museum guide,” Tsukishima smirks, “I think I have the say in whether or not the tour is done.”

“Okay, explain this then.” Kuroo opens the brochure to the section showcasing the outside garden area. He holds up the brochure with his right hand and molds himself against Tsukishima to wrap his left arm around his shoulders. All so he can make a point. “Look, see? What’s this garden then, museum guide? Aren’t we going there?”

Tsukishima almost forgets the heat caging him in and the brilliance of the room that suddenly becomes stifling. He had tried to forget how it felt being in Kuroo’s arms, but his body remembers all too well that it almost slacks against the warmth. Tsukishima breathes out to ease the ache building in his chest and pulls away from the embrace.

“No, we’re not going there, Kuroo-san.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because I said so?” Tsukishima didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but even he doesn’t know why he’s trying to bring an end to their time together when he wants Kuroo to stay.

“Guess you’re not that good of a museum guide after all,” Kuroo says, folding the brochure against and pocketing it, “maybe I should ask the receptionist if she can show me around instead—“

“No.” Tsukishima says, a way of protest. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. “I’ll do it. She’s new here. I wouldn’t want her to be subjected to the torture of having to deal with you.”

Wanting to save himself from the mortifying ordeal of being perceived, Tsukishima practically scrambles towards the exit of the exhibit and almost trips on a step on his way back down the stairs. He pretends not to hear the amusement Kuroo lets out.

They fall into step together as they make their way outside to the garden area. Tsukishima sighs in defeat when they step out and the humidity wraps itself tighter around the air, making it thick and heavy. The sunlight beats down at their backs like a watchful eye and doesn’t let them out of its sight, even when they walk by a dense line of trees. There are more people in the museum present than there were earlier, their voices pushing through the humid air and folding into the sound of cicadas chirping in the distance.

“Hey, remember that one summer in Tokyo?” Kuroo asks, interrupting the quiet of their walk.

“Which one?” Tsukishima really hated summer.

There are three other summers with Kuroo involved that solidified Tsukishima’s hatred for the season, not including the one where he was fifteen and figuring out why Kuroo’s gaze on him felt like being lit on fire. Three summers where it became routine for Tsukishima to bump into Kuroo whenever he was in Tokyo; a routine that felt more like a running gag between him and fate.

The first was the summer before he started university. The former Karasuno team was in Tokyo to celebrate Kageyama’s signing with the Schweiden Adlers and the last dinner before Hinata flew out to Brazil for his self-improvement journey. With Hinata’s contact list that knew no bounds, the gathering turned from small to smothering with the amount of people present. Tsukishima is reminded of stolen glances across the table and tasting Kuroo’s tongue on his own by the end of the night. He doesn’t text back when Kuroo greeted him good morning the day after.

The second was when Tsukishima had a practice match with one of the Division 2 teams in Tokyo, the summer of his second year in university. Tsukishima did not expect to see Kuroo walking into the gym like he owned it, but he was happy to see a familiar face in the city he was starting to become acquainted with. Kuroo asked him out to dinner and for the first time, Tsukishima understood what it meant to have a good meal because it was made with the intent to be shared. He slept over in Kuroo’s apartment that night, the moon being witness to the smile he hid into his pillow before he slept. He doesn’t text back when Kuroo asked him where he went in the morning.

The last time they saw each other was in the month Tsukishima spent doing research work for his senior thesis in a Tokyo museum. It was summer, the off-season, and it was too hot to make any rational decisions which was why Yachi and Kageyama had no difficulty convincing him to go out for dinner and some drinks. They stumbled into quiet, nondescript bar and were greeted by acquaintances they’ve known since the summer of when they were fifteen. Tsukishima ends up drinking too much to temper the heat in his gut, threatening to boil over and surge towards Kuroo. When he wakes up with no recollection of the night before, Kuroo is there. When he wakes up, Kuroo says that words that Tsukishima has always wanted to tell him. But Tsukishima wasn’t ready for any of that to happen, to confront the feelings he’s been harboring since he was fifteen. Instead, he does the one thing he’s sure he’s good at. He turns his back and walks away with his stupid pride weighing on his chest as he left Kuroo in his apartment. Kuroo doesn’t text him anymore. He hasn’t looked back since.

“All of them.” Kuroo responds, his head hanging low. “Why did you leave, Tsukki?”

“Which time?” Tsukishima asks, his feet come to a halt and scratching against the pathway. The bite of heat is making his shirt stick tighter to him than his self-resolve.

“All of them.” Kuroo repeats. A bitter laugh escapes him, making Tsukishima flinch. “But it hurt the most when you left the last time. Was it fun making me feel so disposable? Leaving me there after telling you how I felt?”

“What do you mean by disposable? I didn’t throw you away.”

“It sure felt like it. And you’re about to do it again right now.”

“There wasn’t anything to dispose of!” Tsukishima yells, self-resolve slipping from his grasp. The sound rings in the air around them, the trees echoing the words back towards him. “We weren’t even together.”

“Oh, I _know_ we weren’t together. You made sure to remind me. Every. Single. Time.” Kuroo’s face twists into scowl as he leans back against the railing of the pathway. He crosses his arms against his chest and Tsukishima pretends not to notice how his chest stretches against the buttons of his shirt. “You keep asking me what I’m here for. I was hoping for closure, but you’re too cruel to give me even that. Sorry for wasting your time, Tsukishima.” 

Kuroo makes a move to walk away, but Tsukishima makes a frantic attempt to pull at his sleeve and suspend them in that moment. For once, he reaches out. For once, he’s going to let himself set things right.

Tsukishima grips the sliver of cloth between his two fingers and drags Kuroo towards one of the stone benches nearby. They walk past the bust of Lu Xun, his features contoured by the sunlight filtering through the trees. The sun is shining against the clouds, nearing its afternoon peak.

He lets go and sits Kuroo on one end and himself on the other. Tsukishima can feel a bead of sweat run down his temple and curses the season while reaching for his handkerchief. The unanswered questions hang in the air, making it condense into something suffocating. An irony, considering how they were surrounded by trees.

“Why are you always trying to decide things for me, Tsukki?” Kuroo’s voice sounds foreign to Tsukishima’s ears, his mind not comprehending the heaviness accompanying of his words. “I’m trying my best to understand you, but it’s been years. I’m only a person, I’ve grown tired of being pushed away like I’m not even worth a second glance. Tired of your constant deflecting. Tired of guessing what you actually want from me. For us.”

Tsukishima can only stare at Kuroo. The shade from the trees is covering half of his face, making him look wore down. Something twists in Tsukishima’s gut, but he’s already well-acquainted with the feeling. Guilt.

“Hey, I know I’m real handsome, but we came here to talk.” Kuroo jokes, but there was no humor in his voice.

“I’m sorry.” It cuts through the dense air and resonates within the distance between them. “I know it’s not enough to make up for everything I did at your expense, but still. I really am sorry.”

Kuroo nods, encouraging. Tsukishima takes a deep breath.

“Believe it or not, it actually hurt me to leave you all of those times. Whenever I look back at it, I always thought I was doing you a favor by never reciprocating because who would even want me, right? With all my snark and inability to show what I feel. My stupid pride and always acting like I’m striving to win a contest that doesn’t even exist. Does that make sense? You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Kuroo opens his mouth to speak, but Tsukishima holds up a hand. “And it was always… too much. Not in a bad way, I think. You made me feel too much, _still_ make me feel too much that it scares me. Because if I bank on my feelings, what happens if I act on them? Wouldn’t I look like I fool? Wouldn’t you think I’m a fool? It was all too much, so I always ran away. And I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay, Tsukki.” Kuroo looks at him in earnest. It makes Tsukishima want to run away again, but he doesn’t. Not anymore. “You really don’t have to apologize anymore.”

“But I want to. I need to, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo leans back, resting his palms against the stone. He tilts his head back, bearing the expanse of his neck. Tsukishima looks away and continues, hands wringing on his lap.

“I was actually so scared of what I felt for you and how you made me feel that I even turned down Tōdai. Don’t say anything! Akaashi-san already gave me a lecture on it and he never fails to guilt-trip me about not going to the same university as him. I also decided not to take up an offer from a team based in Tokyo because I was scared.”

Tsukishima lets out a sigh. “Not that… you were the sole reason for my fears, but in general, I guess I really was a coward because I told myself it was because Sendai was already good enough and staying away from home would be too much. But really, I thought I didn’t deserve any of those good things because I’m well…, me. Which is also why I kept rejecting you because I always felt I didn’t deserve you.”

Greed is a funny thing. Tsukishima always thought it only wants and takes, leaving nothing behind in its wake. But greed also exists in the expanse of carelessness, of failing to consider what happens to everything outside the peripheries of his mind.

“So again, I’m really sorry, Kuroo-san. It’s not enough compensation, but I—“

“I was serious, Kei.” Tsukishima feels his heart skip a beat. He had already forgotten that he had allowed Kuroo the honor of calling him by his given name. “There’s no more need for apologies. I was never angry at you. Well, I wanted to… but I couldn’t. I just wanted answers and now I have them.”

Tsukishima struggles to find the words to say. What is he supposed to say? “Yes, um…”

“Can’t believe I still like you so much that you were already forgiven before you even apologized,” Kuroo laughs, the trees laughing with him, “you’re so stupid for passing up Tōdai, though. Like, how did your parents not get mad at you just casually rejecting the country’s number one university? Real stupid, Kei.”

Tsukishima lets out a sigh of relief and turns his face away from Kuroo to smile. They sit there for a while, the chirping of cicadas filling in the silence. The air feels lighter, no longer suffocating.

“Do you think you can give me a shot for real this time?” Kuroo asks, after a while. Tsukishimaturns towards him and thinks he’s making a habit out of breaking the silence; he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Even after everything I put you through?”

“I was never angry at you,” Kuroo says, gentle and reassuring, “I was angry at how you were dealing with your emotions because it hurt me in the process. I always thought you would become this adorable, awkward mess when you realized you felt the same thing I did, but man. I was surprised that you tried to cut me off before anything could happen.”

“What?” The word adorable stamps itself onto Tsukishima’s mind.

“I like you for you.” Kuroo smiles at him, his eyes holding every answer to Tsukishima’s doubts. “Even with your inability to show any emotional range and your stupid fucking pride. You’re you. That’s already more than enough for me.”

“Kuroo-san.”

“Yes?”

“I like you too.”

“I know, Kei. Everyone does. But thank you for your direct honesty. I like you more, though.”

Kuroo chuckles and Tsukishima thinks he should make a better effort to elicit Kuroo’s laughter. He may hate summer, but Kuroo’s laughter makes him feel warm in the best kind of way. They don’t make any move to sit closer together, but their fingers brush against each other and Tsukishima doesn’t recoil from the contact. Instead, he pulls at it and clasps Kuroo’s fingers into his.

“I have a question, though.” Tsukishima has his free hand curling into itself, his thumb pressing against the rest of his fingers in nervousness.

Kuroo hums in response.

“Where do you… live now? In Tokyo, I mean. And in what area?”

“I moved to Meguro some months ago. Really good place. The cherry blossoms are really pretty during the spring! Kenma was always telling me to go buy a place there because of the market value or something like that. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing is sure yet for now, but,” Tsukishima balls his left hand into a fist and tries to steady his breathing, “I applied for grad school in Tokyo and since we’re on good terms now—not that I’m taking advantage of you or anything—I wanted to know if I should get a place somewhere or—“

“Stay with me.” Kuroo pushes himself closer to Tsukishima and takes both his hands into his, drawing away any of his doubts. “It’s a twenty minute train ride from your dreams, Kei. I’d be happy to let you stay.”

“Thank you.” Tsukishima squeezes their hands together and tries for a smile. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he immediately knows it’s his calendar. He turns his wrist to check the time. “Also, since you’ve taken up so much of my time, it’s actually my lunch break now.”

“So?” Kuroo smirks.

“So.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes. The smile that follows comes easier to him. “I was wondering if you might want to have lunch with me, Kuroo-san.”

“You know I’d never turn you down for that,” Kuroo says, already getting up and pulling at Tsukishima with their linked hands, “and you’re paying, by the way. For emotional compensation.”

“I didn’t know the cost of your emotional stability could come so cheap, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo uses his free hand to poke Tsukishima at his side, an unexpected laugh pouring out of him. The sun is still shining against the clouds, now at its afternoon peak. Despite the humidity curdling in the air and the stifling heat clinging onto his body like a thought he can’t shake off, Tsukishima finally thinks that maybe, summer isn’t so bad.

**__________________________**

Tsukishima forgets to call his mom and brother, and he doesn’t get to continue his work as he had planned when he woke up in the morning. He doesn’t even get to buy wine when he passes by the grocery, when he has something far better to get drunk on.

Kuroo takes up half of his bed, even with his body pressed up against Tsukishima. The warmth that envelopes them is welcomed, seeping deep into the sheets and sinking right into them.

“I have a question,” Tsukishima whispers into the crevice between Kuroo’s neck and shoulder, “how did you manage to convince my boss to ask for me _specifically_ and show you around today?”

“Oh, easy,” Kuroo chuckles, and Tsukishima soaks up the quivers of his amusement, “I told him I was your boyfriend and that I was there to surprise you last minute.”

“My what?”

“Well, I…” Kuroo pauses. Tsukishima wants to laugh. “I’m right, anyway! We’re dating because I manifested it. Thank me later."

“Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima whispers his name like a vow. Nothing is set in stone, but Kuroo is the only thing he trusts will remain true. “You are actually so unbelievably lame.”

“This, coming from you? Unbelievable, Tsukki.”

**Author's Note:**

> some things:  
> \- i have never been to the sendai city museum! all of the references i used were from official miyagi websites and other various travel sites pls don’t come for me if i depicted something inaccurately :^(  
> \- with that in mind, i just really tried to piece together the layout of the museum in my mind given the resources i could work with !
> 
> but anyway, thank you for reading! i’d love to hear your thoughts on this! comments and kudos are highly appreciated ♡  
> (especially since i'm new to the fandom and this is my first actual hq fic hhhh)
> 
> i also made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/peelingfruit) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/januarys) to fully ~immerse~ myself in the fandom experience. come say hi!


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